Moving on

For some reason, I don't know why, I'm actually a fairly superstitious person. Whenever I'm in a plane, I touch my wedding ring at takeoff. I don't like to say things are going well, even when they are. I guess it must be hereditary: my grandmother used to warn me to stay out of range of Aunt Grace, who'd spit three times whenever something particularly good or bad happened. And at big events--weddings, funerals, graduations--I tend to scrutinize the details for omens: a dying flower, a stained skirt, a broken dish. I don't want to. I don't even realize I'm doing it half the time. I just do.

All of which is to say that yesterday, Isaac's preschool graduation, was a nest of signs. Would he sail into the room (signaling success and happiness in the years ahead)? Would he refuse to enter (signaling a future of pain and isolation)? Would he tell us he wants to go home (even worse)?

He's just a kid, I told myself as we walked the three blocks to school. Let him be. Let him do what he does. It'll be fine.

Isaac held my hand as we crossed the street, then ran ahead, laughing, as soon as we stepped onto the sidewalk. When we entered the school building, he shied like a nervous colt. He knew a "celebration" was coming. And he was not at all sure that this "celebration" was a good idea.
We spent a few moments in the playroom with the other kids, who were a generally a blur of hair and socks and faces and the occasional shirt and tie. Isaac contented himself by swinging from a chair suspended at the end of the room, while a classmate pushed him.

Finally, it was time to go in. He balked. "I don't want to go to the classroom," he told us. "I'm worried about the noise."

What can you say to that? I held my camera gingerly as the children and parents trooped off. Finally we were alone--J, Isaac, me...and my camera, which was starting to feel leaden in my hands. I took a few photos of the room to keep myself occupied. The minutes ticked by, and finally J. let out a deep sigh that pierced my heart.

It's not prophecy, I thought. It's not. It's just what's happening now. But I could feel that we were in that moment, the one where we stand on the outside of every rite of passage for the rest of our lives, looking on.

From time to time, people came in to visit us. Periodically, we asked Isaac if he wanted to go in.

"No," he said. "I want to stay here."

Finally, abruptly, Isaac stood up and walked over to the entrance to the classroom. He sat down in J's lap in the hallway and watched as the children sang and talked about how, at times of change, it's okay to feel happy and sad at the same time. And then the teachers produced white paper bags filled with pictures and stories from the year, each with a child's name, and began to hand them out.

Isaac peered inside as the children retrieved their bags. When the teacher called his name, he stood up, strode right into the classroom among the other kids, and took his bag. He spent the rest of the celebration in the classroom, in the throng of children and famiies. He ate a snack, hugged and kissed his teachers, and took pictures with his friends. We stayed until the end. Finally, I walked him to the yard and left for work while J. stayed to help clean up.

As I walked back to the car, it struck me: this is so completely characteristic of my son. He waited until the tail end of normal range to walk. We wondered if he'd ever speak. I didn't know if he'd ever say my name, or what he was feeling, or what he did that day. But, at what feels like the very last second, he decides he's ready, and he does it. Whatever it is.

As tough as it was, I think yesterday does have something to tell us about the future. It was an omen. A pretty good one.

Comments

[kristen]

Oh Susan, I loved this post. I need to be reminded all the time of the things you say, the observations you make. It's not prophecy, it's right now. Yes, to that. And, like Isaac, our son, too, waits until just this side of "normal" to decide he's ready. Sitting up, rolling over, walking, talking, etc. All of it in his own time.

Congratulations on what turned out to be a delightful day!

[Niksmom]

Hmmm...sounds kind of familiar. In HIS time. He'll shine and be who he is in his own way and time. Honor his knowledge of what he needs (even if he can't articulate that knowledge in the moment) and you'll all soar. xo

[goodfountain]

Boy, do I get this Susan!

This - "But, at what feels like the very last second, he decides he's ready, and he does it. Whatever it is." - describes Chee very much.

I'm really glad he joined in at the end and decided to have fun. Overcoming those fears is so huge and so important. My hope is that as time goes by that will become easier and easier.

A good omen, indeed.